The crib
As of tonight, I no longer have a child sleeping in a crib. Both of my daughters are tucked into their “big girl beds” snoozing away peacefully (I think) dreaming of happy things. The crib has been dismantled and will soon be used by some friends expecting a new baby any day now.
It wasn’t until I was about to take the crib apart that I began to feel the importance of this innocuous piece of furniture. I distinctly remember the hell I went through assembling it for the first time, several weeks before our first daughter was born. The instructions and diagrams were ridiculously complex. There were dozens of parts and hundreds of little screws. I shed blood, sweat, and perhaps a few tears. In a way, it was a the perfect prelude to parenting.
And it was all worth it. That crib has been my children’s nest for nearly six years. It has enveloped and protected them. It has comforted and babied them. It has given my wife and me peace of mind so that we can sleep at night. It’s a goddamn piece of furniture yet I love it. How crazy is that?
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